Having packed up a part of my wardrobe, and a few books, I sent them by a young rustic to the little _Villa di Marino_, and in about an hour after I followed myself. The old fisherman and his dame seemed absolutely rejoiced to see me, and having laid my valise in their cabin, and dismissed my attendant, I requested they would permit their son to carry my luggage as far as the next _cabaret_, where I expected a man and horse to meet me. They cheerfully complied, and I proceeded with my _compagnon de voyage_ to a hut which lies half way between the fisherman’s and the castle. This hut they call a _Sheebin House_, and is something inferior to a certain description of Spanish inn. Although a little board informs the weary traveller he is only to expect “good dry lodgings,” yet the landlord contrives to let you know in an _entre nous_ manner, that he keeps some real _Inishone_, (or spirits, smuggled from a tract of country so called) for his particular friends. So having dismissed my second courier, and paid for the whiskey I did not taste, and the potatoes I did not eat, I sent my host forward, mounted on a sorry mule, with my travelling equipage, to the cabin at the foot of the drawbridge; and by these precautions obviated all possibility of discovery. As I now proceeded on my route, every progressive step awakened some new emotion; while my heart was agitated by those unspeakable little flutterings which are alternately excited and governed by the ardour of hope, or the timidity of fear. “And shall I, or shall I not be welcome?” was the problem which engaged my thoughts during the rest of my little journey. As I descended the mountain, at whose base the peninsula of Inismore reposes, I perceived a form at some distance, whose drapery (“_ne bulam lineam_”) seemed light as the breeze on which it floated. It is impossible to mistake the figure of Glorvina, when its graces are called forth by motion. I instantly alighted, and flew to meet her. She too sprang eagerly forward. We were almost within a few paces of each other, when she suddenly turned back and flew down the hill with the bounding step of a fawn. This would have mortified another--I was charmed. And the bashful consciousness which repelled her advances, was almost as grateful to my heart as the warm impulse which had nearly hurried her into my arms.--How freshly does she still wear the first gloss of nature!